Runner's Moon Trilogy Megabook Series (2 page)

"Get your butt in here, girl, and hope Billy doesn't find out I've already clocked you in. Or else it'll be my butt!" Barb grabbed the woman by the wrist as she came through the back door. She thrust the apron into Hannah's hands as the young woman shrugged out of her sweater. "I'm sorry. Carl was being his usual self, and I had to walk over here."

The older woman narrowed her eyes and hastily scanned the slender woman tying on her pocket apron. Slender, hell.

Hannah Pitt was downright skinny, no thanks to that no-good boyfriend of hers.

Another more pointed examination revealed the fresh bruises on the woman's upper arm. At her scrutiny, Hannah pulled on her sleeve to try and cover them. Barb snorted with a trace of anger. If a soul knew where to look, they could spot a dozen of the telltale signs—the fresh or fading bruises, the scabbed-over scratches. The covered-up marks that told more about the short-tempered man Hannah lived with. Worse still, Barb realized the haunted look in the young woman's eyes was growing more and more pronounced as the weeks went by.

Hannah had come to work at Barkett's Diner eight months ago. Although the woman was friendly, and their regular patrons had taken to the painfully shy introvert, there was very little Barb knew about her. But there was a novel's worth of information the older woman could read on the younger 20

blonde's face. In the way she reacted to others, it was a classic case of abuse, plain and simple. And it was a damn shame. No woman deserved to be treated as such, especially not a sweet girl like Hannah Pitt.

If Carl Jamison was being his usual self, it meant the son of a bitch had taken her tips from yesterday then absconded with the ten-year-old Ford to find an open bar. Barb knew Hannah was the sole supporter of the two since Carl had suffered a back injury some time in the past and therefore wasn't able to hold down a full-time job.

"Who's in my section?" Hannah whispered, rubbing her palms on her skirt. If the overflow wasn't too bad, Barb would take her customers if she was running late.

"Just Mr. Braddock over at his usual table," the older woman replied. "I told him you were helping in the kitchen, which was why I took his order." Lifting her head a few inches, Barb glanced over the storage cabinet and through the narrow slit in the doorway which led out into the dining area. "He's probably ready for a refill on his coffee by now."

Hannah flashed her a thankful smile. "Thanks a bunch, Barb. I owe you." Straightening her shoulders, the young woman went out the swinging doors with her ponytail swinging like a pendulum.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Hannah grabbed the pot of decaf and marched over to where the hardware store owner was sitting back in his favorite booth, the day's paper shielding him from view. Quietly she refreshed his cup and picked up his empty plate to take back to the kitchen.

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"I'm gonna need a to-go order of some biscuits and gravy," the man requested from behind his newsprint shield.

"Not a problem, Bart. I'll go put in the order for you right now," Hannah replied. The moment she spoke, the paper jerked to one side and Braddock gave her the once-over.

"Morning, Hannah. 'Preciate it."

She nodded and went back to replace the pot before entering the kitchen. Stepping over the threshold, she nearly collided with Billy Barkett, owner of the diner. A look at the man's face told her what she didn't want to know.

"Glad to see you finally got here, Hannah. Tell Barbara I'm docking you both the thirty minutes you tried to finagle out of me by clocking in early." His eyes were narrow, his face flushed from the heat of the kitchen. The man was not in a good mood.

Hannah tried to swallow over the lump in her throat. The man intimidated her. In fact, most men did. "Sorry, Mr.

Barkett. It won't happen again."

"Of course it won't," he snapped and abruptly turned back into the kitchen. Hannah let go of the breath she had been holding and followed him inside to put the empty plate still in her hand into the deep sink. Quickly scribbling Mr. Braddock's to-go order on her pad, she ripped off the top sheet and slipped it underneath the clip on the order turn wheel.

Exiting back into the restaurant, she reached for the boxes underneath the counter to keep herself busy. Little mundane chores like refilling the napkin holders and the salt and pepper shakers allowed her to keep busy, at least enough to satisfy the boss man so he wouldn't yell at her for goofing off 22

on the job. It also kept her mind off of her current situation at home, and what she had to face after her shift was over.

Every now and then she glanced around to see if anyone had come in and sat down in her section. Once Braddock left for work after she had delivered his to-go order, she cleaned off his table and scooped the fifty cents he always left as a tip into her apron pocket.

She had just reached for the tray of ketchup bottles to refill when an finger poked her in the back. "Mr. Hunk of the Month just walked in," Barb whispered next to her cheek.

Immediately that same cheek, plus its twin, went bright red, drawing a chuckle from the older woman. "Oh, come on, Hannah. When are you two gonna stop dancing around each other and go out on a date?"

"Barb! I already have a boyfriend."

"Yeah. A boyfriend. Not a husband," the woman reminded her.

Hannah shot her friend a look of dismay, then glanced up at the man taking his usual seat at the far end of the diner, facing the interior where he could see the whole of the establishment. She took a deep breath to try and calm the heavy thudding of her heart as she grabbed the coffee pot and went over to take his order.

As she approached the man, she could feel her knees going watery with every step. Fortunately his head was bowed over something he held in his hands, which prevented him from seeing her until she reached down to turn his cup over in the saucer.

"Morning, Jeb," she somehow managed to say.

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Jeb raised his face and graced her with a smile. The whole diner lit up with sunshine. The man couldn't have been more gorgeous than if he had just stepped out of one of those fashion magazines. By sheer will alone she managed to grab onto her racing heart and calm it down to a slow trot.

"What can I get you this morning?" she asked, hoping he wouldn't notice her flushed face. What would you like?

Pancakes? An onion and mushroom omelet? Me?

Shut up, Hannah, a little voice told her. Hannah knew that voice and that tone all too well. She referred to that part of herself as Mr. Mean. It was the side of her conscience whose job it was to remind her of her obligations. Of her duties. Of her inevitable lot in life.

"Morning, Hannah. I'd like a Belgian waffle, please." His voice was as warm as the syrup they served. The mere sound of it had the power to ooze through the cracks in her parched soul and tempt it with its undeniable sweetness.

"Would you like strawberries or blueberries on top?"

Her eyes were drawn to his large, long-fingered hands as they emptied two packets of granulated sugar into his coffee, then picked up a spoon to stir. The utensil looked tiny in his hand. On the seat next to him was a pamphlet of some sort.

She couldn't read it because it was lying face down.

"Strawberries, please."

Please. He always said please. Didn't matter what he needed or did, Mr. Jeb Morr always added a please to the end. Hannah had a fantasy that he even said please to the women he took to bed. Let's make love, please. A shiver ran through her at the thought.

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Immediately those brown-gold eyes narrowed slightly. She could see his nostrils thin as he inventoried her from top to bottom. Before she was aware of doing it, Hannah reached up to tug on the sleeve of her blouse, hoping he hadn't seen the fresh marks. Pasting a smile on her face, she nodded. "One plate of Belgians with strawberries on top coming up!" She knew without looking back that he watched her departure into the kitchen.

While his breakfast was on the griddle, Hannah went from table to table to exchange the salt and pepper shakers with refilled ones. All the while she kept one eye on Jeb while he continued to read the brochure. By the time she reached his table she noticed he was ready for a refill. Quickly she went to get the pot.

"Planning a vacation?" She tried to sound nonchalant.

Making casual conversation.

"Just reading up on a few things," he answered enigmatically as she poured. "Looks like today is going to be another scorcher."

He had an accent, but no way could she place it. It didn't sound French or Spanish. Or Italian, or German. Heck, it didn't sound like any kind of accent she had ever heard on television, but she didn't want to appear rude by asking him where he was from.

Not that she hadn't dwelled about it in the past.

In all the time he had been coming to the diner for breakfast, regular as clockwork for the past five months, they had spoken less than a page full of words to each other. And most of those had been what he had ordered to eat.

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She knew he worked on the construction site for the new bank over on Fifth. She knew he was a vegetarian, of sorts.

He never wanted any kind of meat with his breakfast, although he ate eggs. She also knew he seemed overly alert to whoever entered the diner, as if he was anticipating someone. That was the extent of what she knew about the man. That, and the fact that his name sounded as foreign as his accent. But it was enough to make her happy. It was enough to allow her to dream.

Did he have a girlfriend? It didn't matter, and Hannah wasn't about to ask for fear of finding out that he did. In her dreams she could imagine him timidly asking her out on a date.

Him. Timid. Instead of me.

Me. Hannah. The aggressor instead of the subservient one.

In her dreams he wasn't the abusive kind. He used those large hands to hold and caress instead of clenching them into fists to strike at her.

They would agree to meet at some out-of-the-way place where he would pick her up and take her to some nice secluded restaurant so they could enjoy a real meal over candlelight. They would talk about everything and anything.

They would be honest with each other, and make confessions they knew would not be spread about.

And then he would ask her if she wouldn't mind going back to his place for an after-dinner coffee. It would be a nice little apartment, all clean and tidy because he cared about appearances. And one thing would lead to another. First a kiss. Then an admission that he had loved her ever since the 26

first moment he laid eyes on her. And he would carry her back to the bedroom where they would make love.

Finally he would take her back to where they had met.

Maybe take her back to the movie theater so she could use going to the film as her excuse as to why she had been gone for two hours. Before he left her there, he would make her promise she would go with him wherever he went. He would promise to come for her when it was time for him to move on, and she would have no choice but to go with him because he couldn't bear the thought of leaving her behind. Just as much as she couldn't bear for him to leave her behind.

The counter bell ringing brought her back to the present.

Hannah blinked at the rude awakening.

"Order up, Hannah! Get your head out of the clouds and feed the customers!"

Throwing her boss an apologetic look, she grabbed the plate of waffles and took them over to the dark-haired man she had been fantasizing about. She was about to turn and leave when that deep, liquid voice said, "Tomorrow's my last day."

It was as if her heart froze in place. Honest to God, she could feel her face go as stiff as stone. But somehow she managed to turn around to face him.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I was thinking about going up to Clearwater to see if there might be work for me there."

She knew the bank was finished. Connie Culpepper, who worked at the old location, had been in yesterday during the noon lunch rush and told Hannah they were already moving in 27

the furniture. By next Monday they expected to have the doors open for business.

The bank was built, but she had figured he would move on to another construction site. A site here in Laughlin. Not Clearwater. Not all the way up there. It was a good hundred some odd miles away. If he went to Clearwater, there was no way he would drive down here just to eat breakfast.

"That's ... I mean, I'm sorry to hear you're going to have to move on, Mr. Morr."

She saw his eyes dart back to the marks on her arm, but she no longer cared.

"I have enjoyed our conversations in the past, Hannah. I am going to miss seeing you in the mornings."

It was nice of him to say so. Her heart cracked under the strain of the cold and pressure. Already little slivers were breaking away on their own and falling to her feet.

"I'm going to miss having you come by," she managed.

She couldn't breathe. Her lungs wouldn't draw air. A sharp, brittle-edged pain lanced up through her belly and into her throat. Hannah gasped as the hurt burned her eyes, making them water.

Oh shit, what is wrong with me? Why does the thought of him leaving make me hurt so damn much? She had a man.

Actually, she was stuck with a man. With Carl. But at least he wanted her. He needed her. And, in some vague way, he honestly loved her, although she was no longer able to tell.

Jeb Morr had to move on. He had to earn a paycheck, just like everyone else. After tomorrow he would be gone, but she would still have her memories of him. She could still cherish 28

her dreams. Those would never be taken away from her. Or beaten out of her.

They stood staring at each other for several heartbeats, until a family entered the diner and took a seat at one of Hannah's stations. A man, woman, and three young rowdy boys. Tourists passing through, from the looks of them.

Muttering an apology, she tore herself away from his booth to go wait on them.

By the time she managed to bring them their drinks and take their orders, Hannah turned to find the back booth empty. The sight of it was almost too much to bear.